


Pain Relief

by DisguisedasInnocent



Category: Pretty Little Liars
Genre: Bullying, F/F, One Shot, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-15
Updated: 2013-11-15
Packaged: 2018-01-01 16:51:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1046228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisguisedasInnocent/pseuds/DisguisedasInnocent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Alison's torments push Paige too close to the edge she has to find a method of relieving the pressure. But she's not sure how much pain will be a relief.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pain Relief

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very, very graphic depiction of the self harm that I believe was expressly implied within Paige McCullers character from her torment by Alison. I write this not lightly, but as a form of therapy for myself, I do not mean to cause anyone distress if they read this piece of work.

You stand under the spray of the shower, allowing it to thunder down on your scalp, scraping your nails down the length of your forearms as you bite your lower bite to stifle the whimpers that rise up your throat. Your eyes closed, your mind running through a sequence of the events of the day. You can hear Alison's words running through your mind, the sound of her voice tumbling through your ears as your heart begins to race. You don't want to listen to the words that she has to say but they repeat endlessly regardless of your wishes. You cannot hear anything but the whispered threats and the slurred swear words directed at you during the course of the day.

You hear the laughter in her voice and see the way that she curls her lips upwards when she talks to you. You know that she knows. You know that she knows the way that you look at Emily Fields, you can see it in the way that her eyes run over your body and bore into your soul, and you know that she does not approve. You cannot tell if it is because she doesn't like you, because she doesn't think you have a right to desire her friend, or because she doesn't like the fact that you are gay. It doesn't really matter when she slams you against the wall in the changing rooms, and smashes your back into the hard metal of the locker door as you tremble under her rage. It doesn't matter as she digs her nails into your arm and drags them down the length of your arms. It doesn't matter because it hurts all the same, regardless of her intentions.

It hurts when she whispers into your ear that you will never have Emily. You know it, she is far too good for you to be with, but it hurts to have someone else tell you the painful truth regardless of whether you hear those words inside your own heart at the same time. It hurts when she whispers that you are not the type of girl that Emily would find attractive. It hurts when she says that you are nothing to the girl that means everything to you. It hurts, and you cannot stop the ache. 

Your hand slams into the bathroom wall, a bare-knuckled punch sending waves of pain radiating up your forearm and for a moment, for a second, your mind is distracted from the pain that fills your heart. Your eyes open slowly, your teeth digging into your lip as tears run down your cheeks but you look at your hand in a mixture of awe and wonder. Carefully, slowly, you uncurl your fingers, straightening your hand out. It hurts. It is a burning pain; an ache that settles somewhere deep inside your skin that you cannot detect and you know that it will be there for a while. You smile. It hurts, but it doesn't hurt because of Alison.

Pain is the only thing that you have control over, pain is the only thing that she cannot take away from you, not as she's taken everything else. She's taken your heart, your soul and your life, but you will not allow her to take your pain. 

Pain burns through the ache in your chest, pushes it to the side until you cannot think about anything but the way that your hand hurts and you smile. You smile, clenching your hand into a fist once again before thrusting it forwards. It cracks against the tiled wall of the shower, and the pain burns under your flesh once again, a sharp spark of pain that fires through your nerves and into your mind. It settles in the base of your stomach, a tightly coiled snake waiting to be exposed. You press your free hand into your mouth and punch the wall once again. You throw your weight into the assault, punching the wall as hard as you can repeatedly, until the burning overtakes everything else and your bloody bleeding knuckles burn and pulse with pain. It hurts. It aches.

It feels like victory.

It feels like success.

You throw yourself into the assault, allowing it to fill your mind and think of nothing over than the pain and the pleasure of the hurt. You allow your mind to drift away because surely, something that helped could not be a bad thing. It could not be dangerous. You smiled. The pain became your method of survival.

It fades. The relief that you gain from punching the wall, decreasing incrementally until it does nothing to destroy your knuckles against the hard tile of the shower wall. It hurts, but the ache in your chest increases exponentially with each passing day that Alison’s words revolve around your mind. It takes more to block out the hurt.

Your heart is screaming at you. Words fly through your mind in an endless loop that you cannot stop, interrupt or change. Alison’s voice whispering in your ear constantly, telling you how you are not enough for Emily, telling you that you will never be good enough to even speak to her. Her words tell you that you mean nothing, and it hurts more every single time. It hurts like a blade sliding through your stomach and into your gut, wrenching through your insides, cutting through every vital organ that you have and leaving you bleeding on the ground.

You hold the knife above your thigh, hovering as your eyes close. You picture Alison’s face, her eyes shining brightly as she speaks to you in words that you barely understand. You press the tip of the knife down against your flesh. Her lips curl upwards into a smirk, her tongue running across her bottom lip and you cannot help the shiver that runs down your spine. You thrust the tip of the knife forwards, allowing it to slice into your skin. She opens her mouth, honeyed words falling from her tongue and into your waiting ears. You tug the knife backwards, cutting through your thigh, your skin wrenched open. 

You remove the knife, your eyes sliding open as you look at the blood that trickles down the length of your thigh. Alison’s eyes flash with pleasure, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she looks at you. You run your free hand down your thigh, feeling the coarseness of the blood against your fingertips. Alison’s tongue slides out of her lips, wetting them as she leans forward to whisper into your ear. You press the knife against your thigh once more, higher, pressing the tip against your flesh waiting for her command. She breathes into your ear, words thick and heavy as you struggle to breathe, encouraging you to slide the knife into your skin once more. You press down on the handle of the knife, piercing your skin once more, red crimson blood pooling under the reflective silver of the knife. Alison smiles, the corners of her lips pulled upwards at the edge as she presses her mouth against the column of your throat. You press the knife down harder, piercing through your flesh and muscle, cutting deep before yanking the knife upwards roughly, carving through your flesh. 

Alison smiles softly, her eyes gentle and happy as she presses a kiss against your lips. Her hands hover over your hands, your fingers tangling together as she takes the knife and presses it into your flesh. You look into her eyes, waiting a heartbeat and a breath before pressing down hard, together you cut into your thigh once more, letting the rich crimson river flow down your pale flesh. Your cheeks blanch quickly, your hands shaking as you look into her eyes, taking strength from the expression covering her lips. The pain radiating from your thigh blocks out the words that drop from her lips but you cannot find it within yourself to care.

You close your eyes, allowing them to blink slowly before opening. She is not in front of you. You smile, digging your nails into the edge of the wound and scratching down your own thigh as you allow the pain to burn through your nerves. She’s disappeared. You know that she will be back, she never leaves for long, but you’ve drowned her voice out with the pain. 

You will get an hour’s peace, a night’s rest, as you ignore the blood bubbling out of your thigh, her words blocked from your mind. It is not healthy, but it is your form of coping. 

Emily’s face appears in front of your eyes and you smile, because in her image you find comfort. The knife drops from your hand and you slide down to the floor, peaceful for the first time in days. Your eyes close. Your heart beats. Your blood runs, but you are alive.

You are alive, but broken, and you are not sure how much longer you can block her out with pain. You are not sure how much more pain your body can handle before it breaks.


End file.
